


I used to call you my own, my dear

by elizaham8957



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison is dead in this for the record, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, McMartinski - Freeform, Stydia is like actually background in this but they still hold hands the whole time, another scene I wish we had gotten in the finale, but Jeff is the worst, but it's about her so that's why she's tagged, in a very stydia-esque manner, post 6b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: “Hi, Allison,” he starts, not exactly sure how to begin. He comes here to talk to her a lot, but this time feels different. Ever since she died, he’s been in this town, protecting it, fighting for it. And now he’s leaving, and he’s not sure how exactly to explain that to her.





	I used to call you my own, my dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magicath17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicath17/gifts).



> Here is the WAY SADDER Scallison post 6b au that my sister did NOT want me to write, but I did it anyway. This is honestly a scene I wish we had gotten in the finale, though. McMartinski grieving together, and, you know, actually seeing Allison's gravestone, which they DEFINITELY GO SEE A LOT, OKAY JEFF. 
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoy this (or cry, idk. I'm still new to this whole angst thing.) I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter if you ever want to talk, and if you want to read a MUCH happier post 6b fic about Allison, I suggest you go check out the other thing I just posted.

The leaves crunch under their feet, still freshly fallen enough that their brilliant colors haven’t faded to brown yet. The grass is carpeted with them, a mosaic of reds and golds and oranges. It’s beautiful, Scott thinks, but there’s that unrelenting wish that he didn’t have to see it. That he didn’t have to be here. Coming to this place is always hard, because there’s no stopping the stream of what ifs that flood his mind every time he steps foot here. A part of him will always wonder what their lives would be like if Allison hadn’t died. If she were standing beside them now instead of resting under the ground.

He feels Stiles’s hand on his arm, a comforting weight as they walk further into the cemetery. Stiles’s other hand is clutching Lydia’s tightly, their fingers laced together as the three of them walk arm in arm down the familiar route to Allison’s grave.

The white marble is still impeccably polished, shining in the afternoon sunlight. Lydia places the fresh bouquet they’d brought in front of the stone, running her hands over Allison’s name, then then the inscription below: _“Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes.”_

Lydia traces the bow and arrow carved into the stone with her index finger, before pulling a letter from her pocket, placing it on the stone, tucked below the flowers so it won’t blow away. Allison’s name is written on the front in Lydia’s impeccable handwriting, and Scott can see the indents on the paper from the writing on the reverse, small and close together, words and words strung together, filling the whole page. Lydia’s hand lingers on the stone, and she’s silent as she stands up and returns to Stiles’s side, but Scott can see the tears in her eyes.

Scott stands frozen as Stiles approaches the stone, his hand pulling apart from Lydia’s as he kneels in the grass. “Hey, Allison,” he murmurs, ducking his head, resting a hand on top of her headstone. He remains silent for a moment longer, but when he stands up again, his expression is wrecked, his eyes devastated. Lydia immediately loops her arms around him, squeezing him in comfort, and he buries his nose in her hair, choking down a sob. They’re not embarrassed to cry around each other, not here, because it’s been two years and the thought of Allison being gone still hurts like hell.

Scott just stares at the stone for a moment, a lump already forming in his throat. He turns to his best friends, still clinging to each other for support, and Stiles lifts his head, meeting Scott’s eyes. “Can I—” Scott begins, but he doesn’t have to finish, because his friends are already nodding.

“We’ll wait in the Jeep,” Lydia says, before she and Stiles turn and walk arm in arm back to the car. Scott hesitantly takes a step forward, slowly kneeling to the ground, sitting right next to her headstone.

“Hi, Allison,” he starts, not exactly sure how to begin. He comes here to talk to her a lot, but this time feels different. Ever since she died, he’s been in this town, protecting it, fighting for it. And now he’s leaving, and he’s not sure how exactly to explain that to her.

“So,” he finally says, continuing. He runs his fingers over the base of her headstone slowly, the marble still shining in the sunlight. “We’re leaving for school tomorrow. All of us.” He pauses, swallowing. “Stiles is going back to Virginia to finish his internship. Lydia’s going to MIT.  I’m sure she told you that, but.” He pauses. “And I’m going to UC Davis. I’m gonna major in biology, and then afterwards go to vet school. I know it’s going to be a lot of work,” he says. “But it’ll be worth it. Lydia already told me she’ll help me study. But I think I really want to do this. Do something to help that doesn’t need my powers.”

He takes a breath, playing with one of the leaves of the bouquet Lydia had picked out. The flowers are soft fall colors, golds and oranges, dotted with a couple deep pinks. No red. They never bring her red flowers. It’s too much stark contrast against the white of her tombstone. It reminds Scott too much of the bright red of her lips against her pallid skin, her body curled in his arms on the concrete outside of Eichen House.

“There was another hunter in Beacon Hills,” Scott tells her, eyes on the grass. “She killed a lot of people. And she turned a lot of people against us. Made them scared of what we could do. We couldn’t stop her,” he admits. “She ran away. But I know she’s out there, waiting to find more innocent people to hurt.” He swallows, eyes lifting up to the words carved into Allison’s headstone. “I’m not going to let her,” Scott tells Allison. “Me and your dad, we’ve got a plan. And the pack. Everyone. We’re going to stop her. We’re going to help everyone we can. We’re living by your code.” His eyes run over the french phrase inscribed on the stone, the words ringing in his head. “I’m going to make sure that no one else dies running from her, or fighting to protect the ones they love. Like you did,” he says, and that’s when the tears gather in his eyes. They spill down his cheeks, fast and hot, because after two years, the pain of losing Allison is still fresh and raw. The hole she left in his heart is still aching. Like an open wound.

“I know it’s been two years, but I still can’t believe you’re gone, Allison,” he admits, and his hand trembles as he rests it against the stone. “I really thought we’d find our way back to each other. That we’d get the rest of our lives together. And now we’re leaving Beacon Hills, and it feels like I’m leaving you behind.” He inhales shakily, blinking some of the tears back from his eyes. “I still miss you so much. We all do. And I hope that wherever you are, you’re happy. That you can see us, and know we’re trying our best to make you proud. We’re always thinking of you.” He swallows. _“I’m_ always thinking of you.”

He stands slowly, his limbs feeling a little too heavy, his heart twisting in pain. This feels final. He knows he’ll be back— they’re all tied to this town, whether they like it or not. But leaving for school feels like a new beginning. It seems cruel that they get a new chance when Allison is resting here forever, buried in the cold ground.

He runs his hand up and down his arm, his palm resting over the spot he knows his tattoo is. He can almost feel the warmth of the rings under his hand, and it reminds him that even if Allison is dead, she will never really be gone. They’ll all carry parts of her with them. She changed their lives in unimaginable ways, and they are different people because she was a part of their story.

“I miss you,” Scott says again. “And I still love you. I always will.” It’s true, Scott knows. Allison is a part of him, familiar and permanent, like the tattoo on his skin. He’ll grow, and he’ll love other people— he already _has_ loved other people— but through it all, a piece of his heart will always belong to Allison. To the human girl who was stronger than all of them, who ran with wolves, who fought for what she believed was right. Who never backed down because of fear. Who sacrificed herself for her friends, and who died trying to help them live. Who changed a centuries-old code, recrafted an entire family history because she knew she could do better. Who always fought to protect those who could not protect themselves.

Scott knows that he’ll live by that mantra for the rest of his life. Allison’s code will always push him forward, push him to be a better person. To save more people, and to fight for those too weak to defend themselves. _She_ did that, he knows. Allison is responsible for that part of him. She helped him become the hero he is now, and he knows that without her, he would never be the same. He hopes wherever she is, he’s making her proud.

Scott surveys the graveyard one more time, eyes sliding over her tombstone, the dappled light making the stone shine. The sunlight is warm on his skin, and generally he feels so _cold_ here, so empty inside. But not today. Today, the breeze is gentle and the sunlight is comforting, washing over him and bathing him in warm light.

His eye catches a glimpse of the Jeep, Stiles and Lydia waiting for him nearby. He takes one last look at Allison’s grave, reading the words one more time before he returns to his friends.

_We protect those who cannot protect themselves._

Scott turns away and walks back to the Jeep, promising that he’ll always do everything he can to keep Allison’s words alive.

Somewhere, up above, Allison smiles down on him.


End file.
